


give me something i can hold on to

by juggyjones



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 09:19:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17097866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juggyjones/pseuds/juggyjones
Summary: All he wants to do is embrace her; hear her promise they’re going to be okay. But that’s not what she needs, because she likes to do that on her own. All he can do is make her realize that he’s not going anywhere, no matter how much either of them fucks up.And then she says, ‘Give me something to hold on to.’He looks at her, straight into her eyes, and suddenly knows.---or, the one in which clarke and bellamy end up in a heated argument that makes bellamy realize some things about their relationship.





	give me something i can hold on to

**Author's Note:**

> title from _tell me_ by spencer sutherland
> 
> unedited, i apologize for any typos. it's late.

  He doesn’t know when they started arguing, or what about. He doesn’t know why he’s storming around the apartment, waiting for her to come home. He doesn’t know what went wrong. He doesn’t know why his blood is boiling and why his knuckles are red.

  He knows the answer to all that, of course – they disagree on some stuff. He’s twenty-five and she’s twenty-two and fresh out of college, while he’s been out of the game for a while. There’s a difference between their mindset and a difference between their styles of living and they’ve only had less than four months to get accustomed to a life where they live together.

  They were bound to have an argument, a proper one. The past three years were too timid. Little arguments scattered through weeks if not months, where they both admit to their faults and come to an agreement. Meaningless arguments, ones that never mattered.

  Pacing around their tiny living room with a couch, a TV, and a coffee table, his bare feet hitting the hardwood, he remembers it started out as another meaningless argument. It was about the dishes, or the towels, or setting the table – something not worth noting.

  He wanders into the kitchen area, the ‘table’—a bar that also serves as a counter—and slams fist on it.

  Curse after curse after curse, he does it again.

  They have a good life here. They love each other and they have a nice group of friends, but Clarke also has Nyko and Niylah from work, and he has Echo and Bryan and Miller and they don’t spend too much time together. They have a similar mindset, goals and wants and needs in life, and they get along _so fucking well_.

  They’re _good_. They have something most people their age don’t.

  They shouldn’t be allowed to fuck it up so easily.

  ‘It’s not the end of the world,’ Bellamy tells himself. What he means is _it’s not the end of us_ , but he can’t bring himself to say it.

  He walks into their bedroom, where a queen-sized bed is just enough for the two of them. It’s a place of love but today, that’s where their argument started, early in the morning.

  Once again, he can’t recall what it was about. The side of the bed that he claimed the first time they slept in the same bed, as friends, is cold now but it wasn’t in the morning. Hers was.

  Clarke got up earlier than him, earlier than she usually does. He woke to her coming from the shower and giving him shit about boxers he left there, but he didn’t think anything of it.

  The bathroom is almost empty when he walks in, but his black boxers are still there, and he puts them in the laundry.

  His hands shake.

  Clarke cooled down, eventually, before she left for work. She teaches kids at an art school and he’s a carpenter, and they make enough for a modest living in the modest town of Arkadia.

  Really, he thinks, he could’ve gone the whole day without thinking much of it. It was last week that Octavia brought the news of her engagement, and he didn’t connect that to Clarke’s unusual acting.

  Everything went wrong when he came home from work, at six. He was pissed, she was irritated, and it was just bound to go to hell.

   _Not like this._ He looks around, to the emptiness that she left behind. _It was never meant to be like this._

  It’s nine now, almost ten, and things only escalated less than an hour ago. They were bickering and giving each other shit and getting on each other’s nerves because they never had something like this.

  He needs to talk to someone. So he calls Murphy.

   _‘Blake,’_ comes from the other side of the line. _‘What’s up?’_

  ‘Clarke and I had an argument.’

   _‘Right. Gimme a sec.’_

  Bellamy hears clanking and Murphy distantly talking to someone—probably Emori or Raven—and stomping, and a variety of other sounds he can’t really decipher. Leave it to Murphy to not know how to use the mute feature on calls.

  It’s been more than a second, and Murphy probably realizes the extent of the situation if _Bellamy_ calls about an argument, especially with Clarke, and especially if it’s Murphy he’s calling.

  Bellamy takes that time to stop pacing and finally sit down. He thinks the couch will be okay, but it isn’t, and neither is the bed or the floor, so he ends up sitting on the bar/counter/table/whatever they need to use it as. His legs are hanging off it and his back is propped against the wall and it’s not comfortable, but is somehow right.

  Over the phone, he hears a door slamming.

  _‘Right. You still here?’_

  ‘Yeah.’

  _‘So what’s up?’_

  It occurs to him that maybe calling Murphy wasn’t the best idea, since the guy barely has any experience in relationships and is generally bad at giving advice and his moral alignment is definitely chaotic _something –_ but then again, that’s probably exactly why it’s him he decided to call.

  Murphy doesn’t do bullshit, or sugarcoating.

  ‘Clarke and I had an argument.’

  _‘Yeah, you said that already.’_

  Murphy doesn’t to questions, either, so Bellamy takes a deep breath.

  ‘She called me controlling for trying to bring O to her senses about the engagement. And we’ve both been irritable the whole day, and the whole thing somehow escalated and we both said some bad shit and we’ve never had an argument as bad as this one.’

  _‘You are a bit controlling regarding Octavia,’_ Murphy says.

  ‘I’m doubling as her brother and both of her parents,’ retorts Bellamy. ‘There’s no fucking guidelines for that shit.’

  _‘Yeah, we all know your sad story. But Octavia has been a legal adult for two years now and has a life or her own. You don’t get to babysit her anymore. She’s her own person.’_

  He repeats Murphy’s words in his head a couple of times, compares it to what Clarke said to him, and they gain a deeper meaning. He’s still stubborn about it – but if even Murphy can see it, maybe there’s something _Bellamy_ isn’t seeing.

  ‘I told her she has no right to tell me how to raise my sister, or how to lead my life. That O’s too young to be making those decisions. And Clarke—’ His voice cracks and he swallows dryly, lets out a shaky breath and closes his eyes. ‘She told me that O’s more mature than I can see. That I’m the only thing that’s making her insecure. The only one with that power.’

  Murphy’s quiet, but Bellamy can almost hear him playing with his shoelaces – just like he is. It’s a habit they picked up from one another. He still doesn’t know who was the first to get it.

  ‘I told her if she’s so close to my sister, that she can fuck off and be her girlfriend.’

   _‘What did she say to that?’_

  ‘That if that’s what I think, then I’m too insecure and immature to be in a relationship as serious as ours. That I either need to stop being so overprotective and narrow-minded or we’re over.’

  The other end is silent for almost a minute, but Bellamy doesn’t say anything this time. He knows this silence and he’s waiting.

  First comes a sigh, then Murphy clears his throat. _‘Did you actually mean what you said?’_

  ‘No. Never.’

  _‘Why did you say it?’_

  ‘Because…’

  Thing is, he _doesn’t know._ He was being defensive, for the first time in a long time with Clarke. He was defending his pride and the way he raised his sister and he thought it was the right thing to do.

  _‘Maybe this relationship is too serious for both of you.’_

  ‘Funny coming from you,’ Bellamy remarks, thinking of how Murphy moved in with his current girlfriend Emori within months of dating her.

   _‘Well,’_ says Murphy, _‘I’m the one currently sacrificing time with my girlfriend to talk my dumb-as-fuck friend out of being dumb-as-fuck.’_

  ‘Thanks.’

_‘Anytime. Look, maybe you two spend too much time together. She’s fresh out of college and you’ve been out of the game for a while. Maybe moving in right after she was done with her degree wasn’t the smartest idea.’_

  There it is – Murphy’s thought of it, too. Maybe that’s the problem.

  As he puts his glasses on the counter and pinches the bridge of his nose, Bellamy tries to think about Murphy’s words. It’s not often that Murphy offers something even remotely similar to advice, since he likes to claim that the only life he’d ever want to be responsible for is his own. But this is Bellamy, and they’ve known each other for ten years now, and they know each other better than anyone.

  He wakes up next to her, every morning. They have a routine of waking up together, even if she starts work later than him. They have a routine of dinner, even if one has to wait for the other, and a routine for when one of them can’t make it on time. They know each other. They _chose_ each other, time and time again – but never in a situation like this.

  It’s never been this serious.

  But even when he thinks about it, he’s not mad with her, at all. He’s mad with _them_ , with how they handled things – with how he reacted to what Clarke said and with how she phrased it. He’s mad because it’s the first time she expressed outright disagreement on his relationship with O, and because he’s not used to people criticising that.

  Something that Clarke said while they were arguing comes back to him, clear as a day: ‘I’m not saying this just for Octavia! I’m telling you this because of _you_ , too. For both of you.’

  He’s mad because he’s been alone for so long that coexisting with someone who’s as mature as he is—someone who doesn’t need to be raised—it’s completely unfamiliar to him.

  Being with Clarke isn’t like walking on thin ice. It’s exploring another person, another character, and falling in love with her as he gets to understand her better and better. But what they’ve had until now was a dream, something unrealistic. They can’t agree on everything. They can’t _not_ be involved with every part of each other’s lives, or at least not something as big.

   _‘You still here?’_ Murphy’s voice brings him back to the present – in which he’s sitting on their countertop, playing with his shoelaces with a deep frown on his face.

  ‘Yeah. Sorry.’

  _‘Look, I should get back to Emori.’_

 _Fair enough_ , thinks Bellamy. Murphy’s done more for him than he usually would and that says a lot about how good of an influence Emori is on the guy.

  ‘Yeah. Thanks for the talk.’

  _‘You’re going to be good? What are you going to do now?’_

  It doesn’t need thinking. ‘I’ll go find her. Try to figure this out.’

  Murphy sighs, quietly. _‘Best of luck, buddy.’_

  ‘Thanks, Murphy.’

  They hang up like this because Murphy isn’t very keen on goodbyes—something that probably stems from his childhood, but Bellamy never questioned it—and his phone falls into his lap, silent.

  As he told Murphy, he is going to look for Clarke and he knows exactly where to find her, but he can’t bring himself to do it. His legs and arms feel heavy and he feels chained to the counter. Some small part of him feels like he deserved this – as if what Clarke said to him is true, because that’s what he’s been telling himself for the past twenty-odd years.

  But here’s a thing he’s realized – none of that is true. Clarke is an adult woman, mature for her age, and she knows what she’s looking for in the people she surrounds herself with more than anyone else he knows. If she’s with him, then she like sbeing with him. If she was willing to move in with him, then it means she considers him an equal, because she would never settle for less.

  This—whatever this was—was never going to ruin them.

  They know when they’re arguing too much. They know when they need time away from each other. They know it’s better to leave and spend some time alone when it gets too much than take it out on the other person.

  He realises that the moment it was starting to become irrational, both of them saying things they don’t really mean, they stopped arguing. Clarke left and he took a shower.

  That’s what lifts his limbs from the counter and makes him grab his keys, walk seven blocks until he’s standing in front of the cafe Clarke’s friend Luna works at.

  He sees a blonde girl clutching onto a coffee mug, with wet hair and drained clothes. He sees her from the side, and barely, because he forgot to put his glass back on, but he feels calmer. Content.

  Bellamy’s had enough time to think about the fight. Even if Clarke hasn’t, he’s ready to face her.

  It’s the moment he walks through the door that she sees him. He raises his hand in a wave, awkwardly, but she doesn’t return it. He sees her sigh, leave her mug and her bag behind and walk up to him, grab his arm and take him outside.

  ‘Can’t we talk inside?’ asks Bellamy. ‘It’s raining.’

  ‘We’re shielded from it. You ready to talk now?’

  She’s a bit more aggressive than he thought she’d be, but in his eyes, she has every right to be – in comparison to him, she was a lot less of a dick to him than he was to her.

  ‘I’m sorry for being so defensive. I’m not used to people having an opinion on how I’m looking after O. Well, not the people whose opinion I care about.’

  ‘It’s not just Octavia,’ Clarke says. ‘You’re being overprotective with me, too. I’m a grown woman, an adult, Bellamy. I can look after myself.’

  He swallows the lump in his throat. ‘I’m used to needing to protect the women in my life.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be. Octavia’s an adult now and even if you disagree with her decisions, they’re not _your_ decisions. And I’m—Bellamy, for fuck’s sake, when I fuck up my life by going to a job that’s not my ideal job it doesn’t mean I’ll be unhappy!’

  ‘Is this what this whole thing is about? Me trying ot make you realize teaching kids art is dumber than going to an art school?’

  ‘You _giving me shit_ about teaching kids how to be artists instead of going to art school.’ Clarke crosses her arms on her chest, taking a step back. That’s when he realizes she’s wearing only a cardigan and it’s freezing outside – but she wouldn’t accept his jacket, if he offered. ‘It’s not just about the money thing, or the career thing. Maybe I’m _happy_ doing something that’s helping other people. Maybe helping those kids uncover their artistic talent or whatever bullshit is something I wish I had when I was their age! Maybe it’s—I don’t even fucking know.’

  She looks so vulnerable, now, and he hates himself for only realizing the truth now. Of course she’d be happier teaching kids art than studying it. Of course she’d be happier being carefree and not bound by studying. Of course she wouldn’t admit it out loud on a normal day, because that’s not what people usually expect.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Bellamy says, and he means it. ‘I didn’t realize, but now I do, and I’m sorry that I hurt you.’

  ‘I know you are. But that doesn’t erase the fact that you did, and how do I know that you won’t do it again?’

  He closes his eyes, lets them flutter for a second before opening them. There’s no sugarcoating. There’s only truth, as much as it will hurt. ‘I can’t promise I won’t hurt you again, but I can promise to try not to . To try to understand better than I did now. Clarke – I’ve never been in a relationship this serious. This is new for me, too. But here’s the thing: as long as you can tell me when I hurt you and I try to fix it, and I try to be better, and I do the same for you, then it’s good. If we learn and grow, it’s good. And fuck, Clarke, we’re _so young_! We’re—’

  ‘That’s not an excuse, Bellamy! I love you and you know I do, but you can be so sensitive sometimes! And you’re so stubborn and hotheaded and protective and I’m trying to help you realize—’

  ‘You are, Clarke, _so fucking much_. I need you to tell me when I fuck up. I need you to put me in my place when I’m being a dick. This—this fucking argument we’ve been having the whole day is making me realize how much I need you.’

  She’s quiet for a while. He takes in her appearance – her eyes are red and there are bags underneath them, and her cheeks are blotchy and her lips swollen and he can tell she’s shaking, and he thinks he’s an absolute idiot for getting her into this state.

  All he wants to do is embrace her; hear her promise they’re going to be okay. But that’s not what she needs, because she likes to do that on her own. All he can do is make her realize that he’s not going anywhere, no matter how much either of them fuck up.

  And then she says, ‘Give me something to hold on to.’

  He looks at her, straight into her eyes, and suddenly _knows._

  So he says it: ‘Marry me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Marry me, Clarke.’

  ‘I’m—’

  ‘I know this is a shit proposal and I promise I’ll make it up to you, but fucking hell Clarke, I can’t imagine a life without you. I need you and I want you and you’re making me want to be a better person every single day. You’re the only one who calls me out on my bullshit and loves me despite it, and I can’t imagine what I would do without you, and if only you could see yourself from my perspective then you’d know why there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you.’

  ‘Bellamy, this is—’

  He steps closer to her. Another step closer, and he closes the gap between them. Her face is cold in his arms, and maybe they’re being rained on now as the wind has changed, but he doesn’t give a shit.

  ‘Clarke Griffin, marry me.’

  He sees the hesitation in her eyes. He can tell it’s not a decision she can bring herself to make easily, or admit it – but he knows for him, it’s settled. She’s the only person he’s ever truly, completely wanted to be with.

  She closes her eyes.

  ‘Yes. I will.’

  He kisses her and she kisses him back, and she tastes like Luna’s trademark coffee and he’s never been more in love with her. She’s feisty and opinionated and caring and loving and stubborn, but she’s _his._

  They’ll argue and they’ll scream at each other in front of cafes and they’ll make each other cry, but at the end of it all, she’ll always be his.

  That’ll be enough for him. Always.


End file.
